Be Here Now
by rochesters
Summary: Neither of them are sentimental types, but having a nice quiet dinner (home cooked if Kirill had anything to say about it) and a night of sex in every room of the villa (starting in the kitchen because if Kirill was going to make demands, Jack would too) would have been an ideal way to spend their first anniversary together. Except it doesn't end up that way.


**Be Here Now**  
By: Rochester

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

Neither of them are sentimental types, but having a nice quiet dinner (home cooked if Kirill had anything to say about it) and a night of sex in every room of the villa (starting in the kitchen because if Kirill was going to make demands, Jack would too) would have been an ideal way to spend their first anniversary together.

Except it doesn't end up that way.

It starts out with a twinge in Jack's throat, which he swears is nothing and just needs to drink some water.

Kirill gives him a skeptical look from across the table in the kitchen and rolls his eyes when Jack flashes him a cocky smile.

"Maybe I need something else in my throat," he says huskily, giving the Russian his best come hither stare.

Kirill shakes his head, trying to hide the smile on his lips. He rolls his eyes when Jack gets up from his seat and pulls the chair out enough to kneel between the Russian's legs.

They stare at each other for a moment, both of them smirking as Jack cups the growing bulge between Kirill's legs, before the Russian sighs and leans back, obliging the younger man.

Later, when they are at the market, Jack complains of a sore throat. When they get home, Kirill has him put a spoonful of honey into his mouth.

"When I was boy," Kirill explains as they lean against the counter, "my mother used to make me do this. I thought it was silly, but it helped."

Jack casts him an incredulous look, made more ridiculous by the spoon handle sticking out of his mouth, and Kirill laughs before kissing his jaw. His lips move towards Jack's mouth and he removes the spoon, replacing it with his tongue instead.

As Kirill guides them towards the bedroom, he tastes the honey sweetness of Jack's mouth, warm and full of promise.

The next morning it becomes apparent that it's not nothing when Jack wakes up bleary eyed and feverish. His nose is full of mucus and constantly running, he swears that his throat is on fire, his body aches, and he tells Kirill that under no uncertain terms, he wants to die.

Kirill frowns as he presses his hand against Jack's forehead, feeling the warm and clammy skin underneath it. He gets out of bed, naked and in silence, to retrieve the thermometer from the bathroom along with two aspirin and a glass of water.

Once the thermometer confirms his suspicions, Kirill gently coaxes Jack into taking the pills and crawls back into bed with him, stroking his lover's face as Jack falls back asleep.

As Jack sleeps through most of the day, Kirill uses the time to run errands and do some laundry. He periodically checks in on his lover, chuckling at the sight of Jack's bare ass showing between tangled bed linens or murmuring endearments into his messy hair when the Russian brings him tea or water.

By nightfall, it's obvious to Kirill that Jack has the flu despite Jack's blasé insistence that it's just a twenty-four hour bug.

"Little Lamb," Kirill sighs as he looks down at the digital thermometer in his hand, "your fever is up."

Jack shrugs dismissively. "I just took a shower," he counters with a pout.

"An hour ago," Kirill says dourly.

Jack yawns. "Fevers are always higher at night," he replies.

The night is filled with Jack's sniffling and inability to find a comfortable position in their bed. He alternates between stealing all of the covers or kicking them over to Kirill's side with a pitiful groan.

"What do you need me to do?" Kirill asks in the dark.

Jack lets out an incoherent grumble. "Nothing," he finally says, his voice raspy. "Go back to sleep, Viktor."

"You are miserable patient," Kirill grumbles as he picks up the afghan off the floor for the umpteenth time that morning and lays it over the prone body that is sprawled out on their bed.

Jack cracks open one eye, cerulean blue and bright with fever, and scowls. "See how you like it when you have the flu," he snaps as he rolls over onto his stomach. He grunts and kicks his sock covered feet out from under the afghan.

"I don't get sick," Kirill replies.

Jack tries to snort in disgust, but ends up coughing. "Of course _you_ don't," he rasps when the fit is over. He reaches for the box of tissues next to the bed and takes one out just in time to catch a sneeze. Jack groans as he wipes his nose, already pink and raw, and drops it into the trash can next to the bed. "I hate this."

Kirill raises a brow, watching how an illness so common can turn his lover into a child for all intents and purposes. He would normally find this amusing except that Jack is so irritable and uncomfortable that he decides that laughing would only make him crankier.

Instead of replying, Kirill takes an empty mug in hand and quietly goes to the kitchen to boil another pot of hot water.

As the tea kettle whistles, Jack comes stumbling out of the bedroom and into the living room, the afghan wrapped around him like a hooded cape. He shoots Kirill a scowl before depositing himself on the couch with a grunt.

"Do you want me to put on film?" Kirill asks as he pours water into the mug, watching the clear liquid turn dark from the tea bag inside. He waits patiently for Jack's answer, not wanting to toe the line of his lover's already short temper. As he pours a spoonful of honey and squeezes a twist of lemon into the mug, he hears Jack reply.

"Fine," he says in a huff.

Kirill nods and makes his way over to the couch, setting the steaming mug down in front of Jack. "What do you want to watch?" he asks.

"Don't care," Jack mumbles.

Kirill leans over, brushing his lips against the top of Jack's head. "Okay," he sighs, knowing full well that in sickness and health, Jack will have _plenty_ to say about what movie they watch.

It's a game they play - usually when Jack is in a better mood. Kirill will make suggestions and watch as Jack wrinkles his nose and shakes his head in disagreement.

Today he wrinkles his nose, bitches and whines until they settle on a James Bond film with Roger Moore. As the movie starts, Kirill makes them lunch despite Jack telling him that he's not hungry.

He is hungry, of course, and begrudgingly eats the cup of broth and sandwich that Kirill sets down in front of him. "Sorry," he mutters as he lies down on the couch, his feet on Kirill's lap.

"You are not well, _Yagnenok_," he replies, squeezing Jack's ankle through his pajama bottoms. Kirill turns his head, taking his eyes off of the movie, and smiles. "You are not used to people taking care of you."

Jack flushes and swallows painfully, clearly embarrassed. "No," he says in a small voice, not making eye contact with Kirill.

"Did she ever take care of you when you were sick?"

She being the woman that Jack was engaged to and subsequently learned was hired to kill him. They rarely spoke of her since the topic was a touchy one for Jack.

Kirill watches as Jack shakes his head. "She would tell me to drink more fluid, take this or that," he explains in a monotone voice. "Then she would go to work or whatever."

"But you would take care of her, yes?"

He already knows the answer to this. Jack is the type of man who takes note of little nuances, then uses the information to surprise Kirill.

Like the time he planted the herb garden on the back patio when Kirill complained about the lack of good rosemary in the market.

Or the time he ordered a new knife set for cooking and quipped as he pushed the box across the table, "Now, these are not for throwing."

Or when they had a consulting job in San Francisco and Jack took MUNI all the way to the Inner Sunset to go to a Russian bakery that served brioche (Kirill's favorite breakfast food) at the crack of dawn.

He watches as Jack nods and pulls the afghan around him more tightly, like a security blanket.

Kirill squeezes Jack's ankle again. "Let me take care of you," he whispers in Portuguese. He smiles at Jack when the younger man looks at him and motions for him to come put his head in the Russian's lap.

Jack does, shifting his body and resting his head on a pillow that Kirill places in his lap. Once Jack has settled, they continue watching the movie in a comfortable silence. Kirill runs his fingers through Jack's hair and glances down to see his lover's eyelids fluttering as he tries to fight off sleep.

By the time the movie is over and James Bond has saved the day, Jack is snoring softly and Kirill is changing the movie in the Blu-ray player to something more of his own tastes.

Jack sleeps through the second film and part of the local new cast. "I screwed up our night," he tells Kirill.

"You did not," Kirill says as he turns off the television. He looks down at Jack and studies his handsome face. "We are together and that is all that matters."

Jack frowns. "We were supposed to have dinner, then have sex all through the house."

"I can make dinner," Kirill counters, gesturing towards the kitchen. "Sex can wait."

Jack glances up at Kirill, his blue eyes filled with sadness. "You deserve more," he whispers as he looks away.

"Do you hear me complain?" Kirill clucks. He nudges his lover and cocks his head when those blue eyes are back on him. "I am here with you and I am happy."

"I drooled on you."

"_Yagnenok_, you drool on me anyways."

This rouses a chuckle from Jack, followed by another coughing fit. Kirill soothes him through it, rubbing his back and murmuring into his ear. When it is over, Kirill nuzzles his nose against Jack's hair. "Do you want me to draw you bath?" he asks. "It may help."

"Okay," Jack mumbles back.

They go to the bathroom and as Jack strips out of his clothing, Kirill fills the tub with water and Epsom salt that has a hint of eucalyptus oil.

"I did this for you once before," Kirill says a little while later as he kneads the tight muscles of Jack's shoulders with his hands, using the water as a lubricant.

Jack relaxes into his ministrations. "Oh?" he asks, hissing as Kirill's thumb presses against a knot.

"In Moscow," Kirill tells him. "You do not remember because you were ill with fever. I had to strip you down and get into a cold bath with my clothes on."

Jack chuckles. "So you got a good look," he jokes, turning his head slightly.

"Good look, yes, but I was more worried about your health," Kirill explains. "I must admit I was impressed."

Jack chuckles again. "I was worried about that."

"No need," Kirill assures as his hands continue to massage Jack's aching muscles. "I knew I would seduce you in time."

Jack hums in agreement as he leans his forehead against his hand. "I wouldn't change a thing," he says softly. "How we met…I wouldn't change it."

Kirill smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss at the base of Jack's neck. "It makes for interesting story," he whispers into slick skin. "Let's get you to bed. I order us pizza and we watch film while we eat."

They spend the rest of the evening in their bed with a pizza box and watching movies until Jack dozes off against Kirill's shoulder.

He cleans up their dinner quietly, leaving the movie on as white noise, and takes a quick shower before coming back to bed.

Jack is in the same position that Kirill left him in and rouses when Kirill climbs in beside him. "What did I miss?" he asks, sleepily.

"Nothing," Kirill tells him as he presses a hand to Jack's forehead. The skin under his palm feels cooler, though not quite enough in the Russian's opinion.

Jack relaxes under his touch and quirks a smile. "How's it looking, doc?"

"The patient will recover," Kirill states as his fingers trace Jack's stubble covered jaw, so familiar and perfect. He presses a gentle kiss against his lover's forehead.

Jack hums contently as he closes his eyes and sinks into the pillow. "Love you," he mumbles.

"I love you, too," Kirill replies as he rolls over onto his side, stroking Jack's hair as he watches the younger man fall asleep.

He doesn't remember his own eyes closing, but when Kirill wakes up the next morning, the first thing he sees is Jack watching him in the morning light with a devious grin on his full lips.

"Good," Jack whispers as he pins Kirill down on the mattress and kisses his neck, his breath hot and moist against the Russian's skin. "You're awake. Now the real fun starts."

Kirill would roll his eyes as Jack's hands slide up under the hem of his t-shirt, caressing his skin as Jack continues to mouth his neck.

Instead he just chuckles and obliges him.


End file.
